Page 32 of Stalked

The sensations were incredible, the slickness of the lube mixing with the heat of Mason's cock. Toby could feel every ridge and vein as he worked his hand up and down the shaft, his own arousal growing with each stroke. He loved the way Mason's cock twitched in his grip, the way the head glistened with precome. Toby's mouth watered at the sight, the urge to taste Mason almost overwhelming.

"You should see yourself," Mason murmured, his voice a deep rumble that Toby felt in his bones. "The look on your face when you touch me. Like you're worshipping me."

Toby didn't deny it. How could he, when it was the truth? Still, he had a reputation to keep up. "You're the one that couldn't wait until after class before snatching me away."

Before Mason could react, Toby was lifting himself up, positioning his body over Mason's lap with newfound confidence. The hesitation of their early days together was gone, replaced by someone who knew exactly what he wanted—and how to take it. Mason's strong hands found Toby's waist, steadying him as the slick head of his cock pressed against Toby's entrance. The contact alone was electric, sending currents of anticipation racing through Toby's nervous system.

Their eyes locked in that moment of breathless suspension. Mason's gaze asked the question his lips didn't need to form. Toby answered with a quick nod, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.Yes. God, yes.

As Toby began to sink down, the burn and stretch made him gasp. His body resisted, then yielded, opening up for Mason as it always did. The sensation walked that exquisite line between pleasure and pain that never failed to make Toby's mind go beautifully blank.

"Fuck," Toby hissed, fingernails digging half-moons into Mason's shoulders as he took him deeper. The reality of what they were doing—Toby impaling himself on the alpha werewolf CEO in the back of a moving car—sent a forbidden thrill through him, making him clench involuntarily around Mason's thickness.

Mason's hands tightened on Toby's hips, his fingers pressing hard enough to leave marks. "Easy," he murmured, though his strained voice betrayed his own struggle for control. "We have time."

But Toby didn't want easy. Didn't want slow. Three days without Mason had left an emptiness that needed filling: now, completely, without gentleness. "I don't want time," Toby breathed, rolling his hips experimentally as he adjusted to the fullness. "I wantyou."

A low growl rumbled from Mason's chest as his hands guided Toby into a rhythm. Toby's fingers splayed across Mason's chest, feeling the thundering heartbeat beneath expensive fabric. Such raw power contained in tailored perfection, the contradiction of Mason that never failed to intoxicate him. "That's it," Mason purred, his voice darkened to a rough-edged timbre that Toby felt as much as heard. "Take what you need."

The words hit Toby like a physical touch. He loved this—Mason giving him control while somehow still commanding the entire encounter. Permission wrapped in ownership. It made Toby feel simultaneously empowered and claimed.

"What I need," Toby gasped, picking up speed as pleasure began to override the discomfort, "is for you to fuck me so hard I feel it through my entire Ancient Civilizations final tomorrow."

A dangerous light flashed in Mason's eyes—challenge accepted.

Mason's cock hit a spot inside Toby that made him see stars, a cry falling from his lips. He angled his hips, trying to hit that spot again and again, desperate for more of that mind-blowing sensation. The car swayed as they rounded a corner, adding an unexpected element to their rhythm, causing Mason to slide even deeper. Toby's thighs trembled with the effort of rising and falling, but suddenly Mason's grip on his hips tightened, those powerful hands taking control.

"Let me," Mason growled, and then Toby was being lifted and dropped in a pace he couldn't have maintained on his own. The force of it knocked the breath from his lungs with each downward motion.

Outside the tinted windows, the world continued—people walking, cars passing—oblivious to the fact that Toby was coming undone in Mason's lap. The car hit a small bump in the road, the jolt sending Mason impossibly deeper, making Toby bite his fist to keep from screaming. His body bounced helplessly in Mason's iron grip, the man's supernatural strength allowing him to use Toby as though he weighed nothing.

"Oh god, oh god," Toby panted, one hand braced against the car's ceiling as Mason established a punishing rhythm that matched the pulsing heartbeat in his ears. The leather seats creaked beneath them, the sound mixing with the hum of the engine and Toby's increasingly desperate moans. Each time Mason pulled him down, his cock struck that perfect spot with unerring precision, sending white-hot waves of pleasure crackling through every nerve ending.

"Right there," Toby gasped, his voice tight with need. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."

Mason's grip tightened, his thrusts becoming more forceful. He pounded into Toby, the wet sound of skin on skin filling the car. Toby's cock bounced with each movement, precome leaking from the tip, smearing against his stomach. "Look at you," Mason growled, his eyes raking over Toby's body. "So fucking beautiful. So perfect on my cock."

Toby's mind raced with the knowledge that the driver could hear every sound they made, every moan and gasp of pleasure. The privacy screen might shield them from sight, but it did nothing to muffle the symphony of their passion. Rather than embarrassment, the thought sent an illicit thrill racing up his spine, his body clenching tighter around Mason in response. Each noise became more deliberate, a performance as much as an expression—the wet slapping sounds of their bodies meeting, the hitch in Toby's breathing when Mason hit that perfect spot, the low rumbling growls that vibrated through Mason's chest.

The car slowed at a traffic light, and Toby caught a blurry glimpse of pedestrians just feet away through the tinted window. So close, yet completely unaware of the claiming happening on the other side of the glass. What would they think if they knew? The polished, intimidating CEO of Blackwood Enterprises, with his carefully cultivated public image, fucking his young lover senseless in broad daylight?

A stray memory surfaced in Toby's pleasure-hazed mind—hunched over his phone at 2 AM in his old apartment, carefully angling a shirtless bathroom selfie, fishing for validation from strangers. How many nights had he spent that way? Editing photos, crafting just the right caption, then refreshing endlessly for hearts and fire emojis from men whose real names he'd never know. The hollow rush of superficial desire, a digital balm for the ache of real loneliness.

How laughable that seemed now, as Mason's hands branded his hips with possessive heat. As if those disembodied compliments could ever compare to the raw hunger in Mason's eyes when he looked at Toby. As if carefully posed thirst traps could match the bone-deep satisfaction of being truly seen, truly wanted—sweat-slick and messy, making unflattering faces in the throes of genuine pleasure.

Toby laughed softly, the sound mixing with a moan as Mason hit that perfect spot inside him again. He didn't miss his old life, not one bit. Not when he had the real thing, a mate who saw him, all of him—and adored every inch. He rode Mason with abandon, his hips rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Each downward thrust drove Mason's cock deep inside him, filling him so completely that he saw stars.

Mason's thrusts became more urgent, more desperate. His grip on Toby's hips tightened, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. Toby could tell he was close too, could feel the way his cock pulsed inside him, could hear the raggedness of his breath.

"Come for me, baby," Mason growled, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his own release. "I want to feel you come on my cock."

God, he was so weak for Mason's commands—always had been, always would be. That authoritative tone bypassed his brain entirely, shooting straight to his cock.

"Mason—I'm—" was all Toby managed before his orgasm slammed into him. No gentle waves of pleasure this time: this was a fucking tidal wave, dragging him under. His cock pulsed violently, come shooting across Mason's ridiculously expensive shirt. Oops. Except not really, because there was something deeply satisfying about leaving his mark on the perfectly put-together CEO that way.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Toby gasped through the aftershocks, grinding down harder, determined to push Mason over the edge with him. "Want to feel you come inside me."

Mason's response was a sound that couldn't possibly have come from human vocal cords—a rumbling snarl that vibrated through Toby's very bones. His hips snapped up with enough force to lift Toby slightly off the seat. One brutal thrust and Mason was coming, pumping him full, claiming him in the most primal way possible.

---